


Correction

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, One Shot, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: For her insolence, Vera requires punishment.





	Correction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Saint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Saint/gifts).



> So, the other half of my Shiraz encouraged me to write this... But thank you, Saint, for the idea.

The soft, blue sky above cannot take away from this unsavory moment. In the yard, the graffiti on the teal, concrete wall serves as a crude parody of the woman who stares at the image. The prisoners think themselves funny (ha!) by recreating Governor Ferguson, rebranding her as ' Fergass. '

For the phallic imagery, they hoot and howl, smacking one another's filthy paws, priding themselves on a job well done. For such “skillful” innovation, they commend themselves. For their insolence, they'll pay the price.

And so will another.

It's not the image that Miss Ferguson finds obscene. Rather, it's the mob mentality in which they feed into their animalistic game.

Joan glances sidelong to her deputy. Deputy Governor Vera Bennett brandishes a little smirk. What a complete and utter disappointment.

The sniggering, Joan imagines, but it's a knife in her back all the same.

When she spins around, her utility belt sings. Irked, she's a hurricane who refuses to give these beasts the satisfaction of her rage. The long game matters. In due time, they'll get theirs.

In the midst of irritation, Joan Ferguson holds her head high. The uniform serves as her piece of armor, molded to the image of perfection. She demands for the mess to be scrubbed, hiding the twitch that tugs at her lips and the quirk of her brow. Her jaw slides forward, as though it threatens to dislocate. She grabs her ear lobe.

Silence, she decides, is the most appropriate form of action.

_Correct your opponent's behavior. Allow them to fall to the mat and taste defeat._

Ivan's strong voice carries as a swift reminder. She walks a tad faster. Vera struggles to catch up.

With a purposeful stride, she marches towards her office. Governor Ferguson reaches for her key, stopping momentarily to bark orders at her secretary.

“Cancel my appointments for the afternoon.”

“--Yes, Governor.”

So the commandment is issued and so the deed is done.

Her arms cross behind her back. Her spine remains rigid, upright, in the midst of her pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, she resembles a shark in the water sensing blood for the first time.

The issue at hand happens to be her unruly disciple.

How is she to deal with Vera?

Quite suddenly, it dawns on her.

Governor Ferguson reaches for her radio and calls for her deputy.

“This is Sierra One--”

Upon being summoned, Vera jumps, startled by the harshness of such an authoritarian tone. These are the days where naivety runs rampant. Like a dog, she's eager to obey. She's hopelessly devoted to the job. Perhaps that marks the make of her demise.

The scene takes place during the evening. Courtesy of the cutbacks, Vare works a double. It's more money in her purse and even more time away from Mum. It serves as a small comfort when Miss Ferguson's voice is anything but.

As a customary habit, she knocks on the door. Upon hearing a concise “come in,” Vera enters. She tries to stand tall with her hands folded behind her back. It's endearing in the way that she mimics her mentor, but Joan finds no humor in the situation at hand.

As of now, she seeks to wipe the smirk off that pretty, little face.

It all comes as a surprise since she expected Joan to be home for the night. Here, the blinds are drawn and the lights are dimmed to the point where Ferguson resembles a predatory shadow filling out the space behind her desk.

Joan adjusts her nameplate, assuring that it's not tilted at a crooked angle. She folds her hands together, an expectant stare cast in the direction of her deputy.

“Find something funny earlier, Vera?”

_You embarassed me._

Bewilderment twists her face. As though she cannot comprehend, she shakes her head.

"I, erm, beg your pardon, Guv'na?"

“Quite frankly, I cannot have a deputy governor who undermines my authority. Ah, ah, ah. You needn't speak,” she cuts off Vera with a wag of her finger. "In the yard. I saw your reaction to the inmates graffiti."

"I-I...w-w well..."

Vera stammers, unable to string together an intelligent sentence.

The poor woman now looks to be on the verge of tears.

“Your career will not be compromised. However, I find that I must take... the appropriate course of action. Surely, you understand.”

Joan stands, fastening the last button of her blazer when she does so. She straightens out her uniform in order to stroll towards the little mouse who quivers in her tiny heels. Through narrowed eyes, Joan catches a glimpse of how Vera's calves quiver.

With an emphasis on the T's, the Governor continues to speak.

"That uncalled for behavior requires correction."

**Translation:** _ThaT uncalled for behaviour requires correcTion._

From the depths of her pockets, she procures a pair of iconic, black gloves. The creaking sound of leather moans a feeble protest. She slips them on. They fit well.

Vera's ear prick. Lightheaded, she can hardly make sense of what's to come. Heat causes her ears to throb.

"A lesson in humility must be taught."

A lioness turns her back to a timid mouse.

This is her realm, her den, and the mouse is but a pawn of a woman meant to be used in the grand scheme of things.

Nothing registers at first. Vera listens to the rummaging of items. A desk drawer slides open or perhaps a closet door is what she hears alongside the lock clicking to signify absolute quietude within this room.

The next sound, however, is not left up to one's imagination.

Once more, Vera hears the worn creaking of leather.

This time around, the leather belongs to a strap-on harness, all in purposeful black.

Deputy Governor Bennett cannot fathom the object in the room.

The toy falls into place, much like every other aspect of Joan's attentive life.

Now, she lives up to the image of the lewd graffiti.

Vera gawks.

Mum taught her that it was rude to stare. Manners be damned, her mouth hangs open.

"On your knees, Deputy,” Joan demands.

The smoky rasp of her voice is enough to lure Vera in.

Wordlessly, Vera obeys. She drops to her knees that are sure to withstand a few bruises underneath the thin layer of of her nylons. Her eyes fall down, down, down to the menace in the room. Swallowing, she looks to the fake cock that stands at attention.

“Go on; take your punishment.”

Joan brandishes a smirk that's a parry in disguise.

A gloved hand creeps towards the back of Vera's skull, patting over the misshapen bun that she has yet to master. She hesitates. Ultimately, she does as she's told. She starts with her tongue, running it across the hard length. It doesn't taste like anything, really.

With great hesitance, she takes it into her mouth. Her hand wraps around the length for better access. A palm cradles the back of her head, forcing her to swallow more.

Her whines are muffled by the hardness that her tongue runs over. She doesn't take it all. Can't take it all as a novice in this field.

At a leisurely pace, she bobs her head. Attempts to control her gag reflex. From above, as some messianic figure, Joan smirks. Watches on and gets high from the effect.

The surge of arousal threatens to dissolve her control. For a moment, she imagines thrusting into Vera's mouth, deep into her throat, and to watch her gag on the thickness. At the thought, she nearly bucks her hips, eager to see Vera's tears and hear her rampant cries for more.

When she thinks that Vera has successfully coated the strap-on, she withdrawls. A wet pop sounds of. Vera looks up with swollen lips, her eyes glazed over, her tie hanging askew.

_What a mess of a woman._

“Get up,” the Governor states. “Put your hands on the wall.”

Vera struggles to stand. Her heels slip. Her ankle bends. Preoccupied by the dull ache of her jaw, she ignores one pain for another. She wipes the tears that bead in the corner of her eyes; it's something she cannot control. Reduced to the role of prisoner, her hands settle on the brick wall.

This is the structure that she so vehemently needs and craves.

There's a backhanded slap to her ass. As an automated response, Vera squeaks. Flushes. Her ears turn cherry red.

From desperate need, her clit throbs painfully. It catches her off-guard to feel this way. Without room for rationality, she hangs her head. Spreads her legs a tad wider to compensate for the sinister presence behind her.

The thumb and forefinger of a leather glove capture the trembling hollow of her throat.

Timidly, she swallows.

"Are you keen, Vera?"

Ferguson whispers.

Hot breath tickles the nape of her neck.

One cannot deny their raw, animalistic nature.

Nor can Vera deny how wet she is.

Her skirt rises, pooling around her trim waist. Her panties are unceremoniously pushed aside. Two, gloved fingers graze her lightly, furred lips, teasing her entrance.

A groan escapes Vera.

Her forehead pushes into the wall, her mouth trembling from the contact.

There's another slap, a crack, and it sets her body on fire. Then, the tip of that hard cock finds her. She takes it inside.

"That's it," Joan croons into the shell of her ear, her weight placed against Vera's not in a way to cause pain, but enough to invoke feeling.

A whimper reverberates in her throat.

Underneath the confines of her bra, her nipples harden. She bites on her lip to the point where it threatens to _bleed_.

Buried to the hilt, her body adjusts to this thing – no, _Joan_ – inside of her. Vera pants quietly, her walls contracting in desperate need for some contact.

“Guv'na, _please_.”

In this moment, Vera hardly sounds herself. When she begs, her voice takes on a shrill tone. She can hardly hear Ferguson's chuckle with the blood pounding in her ear drums. Mindful of Vera's needs and restraints, she starts slow. While it's punishment, she's still aware of Vera's fraility.

Gradually, Vera rocks her hips back and forth to meet the gusto of Joan's thrusts. Her hard, little clit doesn't receive the stimulation she needs. She seeks to draw her pleasure out elsewhere and it warrants another slap to her arse.

“God--” she mewls and it sounds like another language.

Frantic, garbled, _wanton_.

This is the most salacious that she's ever been.

God is dressed in black, playing her for the instrument she is.

They fuck harder.

The thrusts become more erratic, more incessant, and less controlling. Vera's putty in her corded arms. The strap-on disappears inside of Vera before pulling out and pushing in all over again.

It's a hard, rough fuck, but there's something gratifying about the filthy deed. Her hips start to hurt. Gloved fingers sink into her curves, keeping her bound to the wall. Her cheek rubs against it, her breasts forced against that flat surface. Delicious friction renders her dizzy, numb, aching for more.

Desperate for extra stimulation, she grinds against the wall. Her nipples taste the bite of her cotton bra, beige underneath the button-up blouse.

Towards the end, she can hardly hold herself upright or together, for that matter. The muscles in her thighs start to quiver. With a cry, she cums. A white heat blinds her. Her inner walls contract, pulling the toy deeper inside.

A gloved hand muffles her scream.

It's high brow art to watch Vera come undone.

Intrigued, Govenor Ferguson watches this woman fall apart in her arms. A pawn isn't knocked from the chessboard entirely. She keeps her pinned to the wall, her breathing ragged.

“Have you learned your lesson?” She coos, voice sickly sweet for the insolence endured earlier in the day.

Vera keeps her face hidden, clinging to the wall, sore and soaked.

“Yes, Guv'na” comes out and that's all there is to it.

Satisfied, Joan buries her smirk into Vera's neck.


End file.
